


Lethonia

by WitchyBee



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Nightmares, POV Female Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:50:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyBee/pseuds/WitchyBee
Summary: Jespar was her first real connection in this country full of strangers. Her anchor ever since Dara, feverish and penniless, found herself in his company. He provided answers when she had nothing to her name but questions. In fact, he'd become her most trusted source for local knowledge, philosophical insights, or just a sip of wine.(Or, random snippets of time as two adventurers awkwardly fall in love.)





	1. Train Talk

The undertrain: a true marvel of Pyrean engineering. Even so, it didn’t feel worth all the hell they’d been through to reach it. But at least it gave she and Jespar a chance to talk. Really talk. Dara had not expected him to open up about his family, nor had she anticipated just how much the two of them had in common.

“But enough about me. You’re an orphan, too, aren't you? How come? You’ve never told me about that.”

He was trying to change the subject, but he’s right; she had never told him the full story. They didn’t usually do personal, at least not often. Certainly not like this. However, Jespar had revealed his scars tonight – and that pain, that raw anger, she knew it all too well.

Dara took a deep breath, and thought back to the horrific summer evening. Her memory of that night, though vivid in dreams, was foggy at best. Something blocked her conscious mind from recalling anything beyond facts and a few fleeting images. Masked men–temple soldiers. Mother’s screams. Sister’s cries. Running. The farmhouse ablaze. Smoke choking her lungs. Clinging for dear life to the saddle of a wounded horse.

Despite this, Dara told him everything she could.

“Shit… I’m sorry.”

“Thanks but, like you said, don’t be. Honestly even if it hadn't happened that way, I doubt things would be much better.”

“Hm. Was that also when...?” Jespar indicated her right eye, its pupil milky white and unseeing.

“Oh, no, it’s been like that since I was born. When he got angry, Father used to say it must be the Creator’s punishment. ‘Proof of my sin,’ I think were his exact words.”

“Charming fellow,” Jespar said.

“Yeah... Anyway, I begged on the streets of Ostian for a while. Nobody wanted to take in a half-blind urchin child, but I got by somehow. Odd jobs, stealing–whatever I had to do. And, when I was a bit older, I met Sirius.”

_(...Sirius whose corpse lay in that house, decaying next to hers. Or cold and bloated at the bottom of the sea, as the illusion once claimed. ‘What is time to the dead and dreaming anyway?‘ All her fault...)_

“Neither of us had anyone else, so we decided to stick together. He was the first person I ever told. About my family, I mean. When the civil war broke out in Nehrim, all the jobs dried up.”

“War tends not to benefit the economy in the long run, especially if your nation is fighting itself.”

“Exactly. Ostian was turning into a bloodbath. So, we had a few options at that point: slavery, death, or fleeing to another country. You can imagine which one was most appealing. We snuck aboard a ship and...well, the rest is history.”

“And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Dara agreed with a slight smile. The circumstances were far from ideal, but there was no one in Vyn she would rather be with.

Later, exhausted but a little afraid to let herself fall asleep, she described her recurring dream. Jespar, in turn, described the nightmare which used to haunt him.

Perhaps it was talking about all this aloud, or maybe guilt, or the lingering effects of recent trauma, or even a combination of all three, but the nightmares returned with a vengeance. However, a few details had changed. The floor of her family’s burning farmhouse collapsed beneath her. Dara was submerged into the cold, murky ocean, sinking deeper as her father and Sirius screamed in fury.

She awoke violently, gasping for breath as though she really had been drowning. Well, at least there was some variety, Dara supposed. The old nightmare had almost become a familiar comfort to her in its consistency. Not so much anymore. Wonderful.

Dara scanned her surroundings, a necessity now that waking up in new places was such a common occurrence. Right. Still on the train. She could hear it moving steadily along its tracks, like a heartbeat.

Jespar sat on the other bed, smoking his pipe. “Bad dream?” he asked.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Dara exhaled, a laugh that was more a sigh. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. Can’t sleep. You might have startled a flock of birds in Qyra, though.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

Jespar set his pipe aside. He seemed to consider his next words carefully for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, and more serious than before.

“You know, it gets easier,“ he told her. “Heck knows why but it does. Enough distractions. Enough distance. Enough time. You can and will survive, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Dara wished that were true in her case. That the nightmares would someday just stop. _(...That she hadn’t survived at all...)_

“Did the Wise Hermit say that, too?” she asked instead of voicing such thoughts.

He smiled. “Nope. That bit of wisdom is a Jespar Dal'Varek original, fair lady.”

By the name of the sun, she loved him.

“I know you’re not one for sentimental stuff, but…I really don’t think I could have made it through all this without you. Not just the bloody Living Temple, I mean. Everything that’s happened since I washed up here. So, uh…thanks. That’s all.” Which, of course, was a lie.

Dara immediately felt foolish, and relieved, and so fucking scared. But then, she never really stopped being afraid these days.

Jespar said nothing. Maybe he was scared, too.

The train sped on.


	2. First Meeting, Redux

“Well, would you look at that. it seems our mysterious survivor has awoken.“

Dara could feel the softness of a bedroll under her aching back, and somewhere nearby, the warmth of a campfire. She blinked, rubbing sleep from her good eye. Her head felt...sluggish. Another dream? That voice...

“...Sirius?”

“Afraid not, fair lady. The name’s Jespar. Jespar Mitumial Dal’Varek.”

“Quite the name,” she said.

Of course he would be a stranger, because Sirius was dead. Enderal was a land of strangers to Dara. She took a deep breath, saltwater burning in her lungs, and sat up with slight difficulty.

“And yours?” Jespar asked. She studied him more closely--tall, well dressed, handsome in a rugged sort of way.

“I’m Dara, and if I were you, I’d get as far away from me as you can. People in my vicinity have a bad habit of dying as of late.”

He frowned. “Well, bandits did kill both of the apothicari, but I don't really see how that could be your fault.”

_Because I saw it all before it happened, then did nothing to prevent it._

“Anyway,” Jespar continued, “the only reason you survived is the impact of the explosion threw you right into a thicket. Luckily most of your injuries are superficial, and I’ve already taken care of them.”

Indeed, she felt the sting of various cleaned scrapes and cuts on her arms, as well as the soreness of her back where there were no doubt large bruises forming. Some luck.

“What about my fever?”

“That is an entirely different story. You’re suffering from first degree Arcanist fever.”

He kept talking--something about potions, magic, power’s cost--and she tried to focus, but that word. Arcanist. Stronger than ever yet still weak. Mother had had a little magical talent, too. Just enough to heal Dara’s skinned knees. Never enough to protect herself from Father.

“You seem to be a woman of few words, fair lady,” Jespar observed. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Dara snapped out of her reverie. “Sorry. It’s just… Has Arcanist fever been known to cause...prophetic visions?”

“No, at least not that I’m aware of, but I admit you’ve piqued my curiosity. Hmm. You need someone to help you control your magic, and I might know just the person. But first, tell me about these visions. What do you say?”

Dara agreed to his terms. What choice did she have, after all? Try her luck in the wilderness? Somehow she found herself telling Jespar everything. The Veiled Woman. Sirius’ death. The memory stones. That strange temple with its brunt corpses and voices echoing across time. Her visions of the future.

And, strangest thing yet, Jespar completely believed her.

Then he told her a story of his own. Red Madness. A Magister had gone mad, killing a group of apprentices. This country's Holy Order hired Jespar to investigate, and now he wanted Dara’s assistance. She cared nothing for gods of any kind but it seemed these religious mages in Ark were the only ones who might cure her fever, and Jespar was her only connection here in Enderal.

“Thank you,” Dara said shortly before leaving. “For helping me, and believing what happened. I was there and I'm not sure even I believe it."

“Certainty is a fool's friend, as the Wise Hermit says. Especially now with the world in such chaos, I'm willing to believe anything is possible."

She smiled. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, I tried. This could probably be a lot better, but I'm tired of staring at it and I have so many feelings about these two. There may be more drabbles like this in the future.


End file.
